The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (57 page)

He flashed a smile full of ivory. “No harm done, eh?” Looking at Laurel, he said, “Say, you’re Vicar Phelp’s daughter, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded, suddenly her reserved self again.

“Ah, no doubt you’ve heard of my daughter, Ernestine Nip-pert, eh?”

So this is the man Andrew talks about!
Julia thought.

“She’s a grade ahead of me,” Laurel replied.

“Well, isn’t that nice? Say, if you ever find yourself in need of some tutoring, have your father bring you over to Prescott, mind you? Ernestine doesn’t believe in hiding her talent under a bushel, so she would be more than willing to help you.”

“Thank you,” Laurel replied with a smile.

“Music is her calling, I’m sure you’re aware if you’ve heard her sing in chapel, but she has a gift for teaching as well,” the vicar said proudly. “Why, I daresay she could teach a hog his alphabet!”

“Thank you,” Laurel said again, but when the man had entered the building, she covered a giggle with her hand, causing Philip to chuckle.

Julia whispered a scolding to both, for surely the vicar’s wife or another family member was waiting in one of the carriages in the circular drive, and she did not want to hurt any feelings.

But once the carriage was a mile from the school, Philip and Laurel repeated the whole exchange to Aleda and Grace, who also burst into giggles. When Philip began snorting the letters of the alphabet, all four were laughing—Grace so hard that she started hiccuping.

Julia turned her face away from them to hide a smile. Guiltily so, for she knew as an adult she should lecture them about making fun of others.
But he brought it on himself
, she rationalized. And it was so good to hear the children enjoying each other’s company. Had she ever fully appreciated these special times together as a family?

Seth and Thomas were constructing another shelter—their tenth—out in the pasture when Seth heard the sound of a wagon approaching in the lane. Anyone who came this far down Nettle Lane was either lost, which wasn’t likely, or looking for him, which was only a little more likely. “Shall I go see who it is?” Thomas asked.

Seth nodded down from the roof of the structure because his teeth were engaged in holding nails between them. The boy jumped on the back of his pony and headed for the cottage, causing the trio of guineas to scatter out of the way.

Must have been lost after all
, Seth thought, for less than a minute later he paused long enough from hammering to listen to the rattle of wheels fade down Nettle Lane. Yet Thomas did not return for another five minutes. When he did, a smile was spread across his young face.

“It’s the cake lady!” he called when close enough for Seth to hear. “Miss Sanders.”

Seth removed the nails from his mouth. “Miss Sanders?” But what was she doing here? “Has she left?”

“No, sir. She’s in the kitchen.”

This made no sense at all. “Is there something wrong?” Seth asked the boy.

“No, sir. She said you should keep on working and that she was cooking our dinner.”

But Seth could no more work than fly. He eased himself down from the roof of the shelter. “Here, finish putting the lumber scraps in the wagon,” he told Thomas and started for the cottage with long strides. The thought of Miss Sanders in his kitchen was an unsettling one, for if her father had gotten so incensed about his giving her a ride home from church, this would make him livid.

It was not that he was afraid of any of the Sanders men, but he was not foolish enough to believe that he could fight a whole gang of them. Besides, his primary reason for moving out to Nettle Lane was to be left alone.

Sure enough, he heard kitchen sounds as soon as he opened the back door. He walked through the pantry and stood for a second, speechless. She was a vision of loveliness, standing at the table, peeling potatoes with her lips set in a straight line of concentration and stray curls forming a halo around her face. It appeared she was so lost in thought that she had not heard him enter the house. On the cupboard ledge sat a pie, and he could feel the heat wafting over from the oven, so he knew something was inside. There wasn’t a tin in sight. It was a pleasant, domestic scene that warmed his heart only long enough for Seth to remind himself that she was still a Sanders.

Before he could speak, she looked up at him and started slightly. “Oh. Mr. Langford.”

“Miss Sanders,” he nodded. He waited for her to explain herself, but she merely went back to work. “What are you doing?” he was finally forced to ask.

“Peeling potatoes.”

That riled him just a little, for he had a feeling she knew exactly what he meant and was being evasive. “I mean, here, Miss Sanders. Why are you here?”

She looked up at him, and for a fleeting second, he detected some uncertainty in her expression. “I’m cooking dinner for you and Thomas,” she replied softly.

“But why?”

Her lips pressed together, as if she had to gather courage before she could answer. “Because I want to show you that I would make a good wife, Mr. Langford.”

“A good—” he began when he was able to speak. “I don’t
want
a wife. Thomas and I are getting by just fine. Besides, your father is likely on his way over here now with a gun.”

“My father doesn’t approve of my being here, correct, but he won’t trouble you.” Again, that press of the lips while her hazel eyes acquired a luster that could be seen from across the room. “You may not want a wife, Mr. Langford, but you’re in need of one. I could tend to your cottage so that you can concentrate on your horse business. I would plant a garden, too, so you would never want for good meals. I have six cows of my own, and I could sell the milk to the cheese factory so that you never have to give me spending money.”

She paused, and Seth saw her shoulders rise and fall.

“All I would ask is that you treat me decently and sit with me during chapel so that I don’t have to intrude always upon other people’s families.”

This was too staggering a proposal even to consider. He and Thomas had a pleasant life here. If he felt any temptation at all—for she was a lovely young woman and surely a good-hearted one, judging by the fact that she sang like an angel in church and had tended to Mrs. Brent—it was more than nullified by the fact that she was a Sanders. While she could not be held accountable for her parentage, she certainly could not blame him for not wishing to be involved in any way with her family.

And lastly, she wasn’t Elaine.

“Miss Sanders, you’re wasting your time,” he said, not unkindly, but aware that it would be the greatest unkindness to deceive her into thinking there was a possibility of a future between them just to get a home-cooked meal.

She didn’t even appear surprised but gave him a somber nod and resumed peeling potatoes. “Do you understand?” he was forced to ask.

There was a moment’s hesitation, when again the uncertainty washed across her face. Then she looked at him again. “I’m willing to take that chance, Mr. Langford.”

Seth cleared his throat to argue further. He found himself bereft of the right words in the face of such determination, so he turned and left the cottage. There was nothing to do but return to his work. She would have to realize at one point or another that her effort had failed.

“She’s nice, huh?” Thomas asked when Seth returned to the pasture.

“Yes,” Seth told him and hefted himself to the top of the structure to finish the roof. “Hand me some more tiles up here, will you?”

They had started another structure when the boy looked over toward the cottage and said, “Here she comes, sir.”

Seth paused from sawing a board and looked. Sure enough, Miss Sanders was walking across the pasture toward them. The guineas rustled over to her and flustered around her skirts, either begging for corn or greeting an old friend.

“Dinner is ready,” she said when close enough to speak.

“We’re not hungry,” Seth replied and blew the sawdust from the freshly cut end of a board.

“But I’m hungry, sir,” Thomas told him.

Traitor!
Seth thought. He shot the boy a warning look that was lost, for the young eyes stared at Miss Sanders with an expression of pure adoration.

“What did you cook us, Miss Sanders?” Thomas asked.

She smiled back. “Roast beef.”

“Not tinned?” asked the boy. The hopefulness in his tone cut Seth to the quick.
You said you liked tinned beef!

“Not tinned” was her reply.

“May we stop and have some?” Thomas asked Seth.

Seth picked up his hammer. “You have some if you like. I’ll fix my own dinner later.” The truth was that he was ravenous, but it would serve no good to encourage Miss Sanders. While he didn’t have the heart to force the boy to stay away from food that was offered, he had no intention of being led into a culinary trap. Not as long as there was ketchup in his cupboard.

Thomas left without a backward glance, leading his pony by the reins as he and Miss Sanders walked together. The guineas even deserted Seth, running ahead of the two. Seth’s hammer pounded the nail he was holding so hard and rapidly that it dented the oak wood.

After some time, the boy returned on the back of his pony. He had the satisfied look of someone who had eaten heartily. Meanwhile, Seth’s stomach had started growling. “Here, come help me hold this beam steady,” Seth told him.

“Yes, sir,” Thomas replied, hopping to the ground. They worked silently together for five minutes, and then the boy said, “That was the best food I ever tasted.”

“That’s nice. Here, brace your shoulder against it while I hammer this nail.”

Another five minutes passed before Seth asked, “She’s gone, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh.” Seth had not heard horses or wheels this time, so she must have walked. While the chivalrous side of his nature felt uneasy at that thought, the more rational side of him figured that it would discourage her from ever trying this again. While his two sides continued their debate, his stomach sent up another growl. He set down his hammer. “I suppose I’ll go make my dinner now.”

Thomas gave him a curious glance. “But it’s still on the table.”

“You mean she left the food behind?”

“There’s enough for tomorrow, too, I think.”

“We’ll see about that,” Seth told him, for he had every intention of packing whatever lurked inside his kitchen and delivering it to her cottage. But before he even reached his cottage, with Thomas at his side, he knew that he could not. She had told him that while her father did not approve of her actions, he would not appear and cause a row. But Mr. Sanders was obviously not the most stable individual in Gresham. It was not that Seth was afraid of what the Sanders men might do to
him
—but what if he took his anger out on his daughter? While he did not want to marry her, he certainly did not want to cause her to be mistreated.

Since he realized he could not return the food without possibly causing her harm, and that it would be a shame to waste it, he resigned himself to having to eat it. The aroma hit him even before he reached the back door and grew stronger and more savory as he and Thomas walked through the pantry and into the kitchen. There on the table sat a platter of roast beef, surrounded with little potatoes, onions, and carrots. Seth went over to it and cut a small slice, just to taste. Juices ran down the side as the knife went through it like butter.

“It’s good, huh?” asked Thomas.

“Yes, it is,” Seth agreed reluctantly and ate two more slices before remembering his manners and sitting down at the table. “Will you have some more?” he asked the boy as he spooned carrots and potatoes onto his plate.

The boy shook his head. “I’m full, sir. I didn’t even have room for apple pie.”

“She walked back?” Seth asked him, though he knew the answer.

“She carried her roasting pan too.” This was said without a trace of accusation, but Seth felt ashamed at the idea of her lugging an iron pan for half a mile after cooking them this glorious meal—no matter what her motives. “I offered to let Lucy carry it on her back, but Miss Sanders said she would manage just fine.”

Seth frowned guiltily but thought,
At least she’s not likely to try this again
.